Valentine's for Cynics
by nobleanchor
Summary: Arthur and Gwen have a pact: never to celebrate their least favorite holiday alone. Oneshot.
**AN:** Written for the Round Table Minutes February challenge.

* * *

I

"Beer, popcorn, and… Wait for it," he cautioned as she tried impatiently to peek inside the bag in Arthur's arms. Then he fished a hand in and pulled out a dvd, waggling his brows. "Zombies."

She came down from her tiptoes. "I thought you said this would be the perfect _anti_ -Valentine's Day kit."

"It is." He frowned, setting the bag on her counter and popping the cap off a bottle for her. "If we were with our exes we'd probably be drinking wine, eating chocolate covered strawberries and, I don't know, watching a romcom."

"You mean we'd be having sex," she said with a snort. "Although I'm sure you loved when Mithian put on romcoms."

Arthur winced, and Gwen felt slightly guilty for mentioning her name. "Sorry. I told you it was probably too soon for both of us."

"I'm fine. And don't give me that look. You've not been with _him_ for three months and you don't like discussing it either. That's the whole point of tonight. No romance, no relationship talk. Just pigging out, and lots of blood and gore."

Gwen sighed, stuffing the dvd in the player while Arthur made popcorn.

"Hurry up, it's starting," she yelled toward the kitchen as the microwave chirped, feeling suddenly grumpy.

"Ooh, ow! Bloody–Ah!" Arthur batted the piping hot bag between his hands until he could hold it long enough to tear it open, emptying the steaming contents into one of her mixing bowls.

"Why do I get the feeling you're angry I haven't brought flowers and chocolate?" he asked as he collapsed beside her on the sofa, bowl in hand. Then he dug behind his back, tossing pillows onto the floor. "And why do you have so many sodding pillows?"

"They're decorative. And I don't need chocolate. You know I don't buy into the whole Valentine's Day thing anyway. Ugh, how did you manage to burn this? I literally have a _popcorn_ button on my microwave."

He shrugged, shoveling a crispy handful into his mouth anyway. "Must have pressed it twice. It's not that bad."

On screen, the action had already begun, and they both flinched as the main character hacked down an undead attacker, showering the scene in blood. They fell silent, engrossed in the film, occasionally wiggling to find a more comfortable position.

Thirty minutes in, Arthur watched from the corner of his eye as Gwen hugged a pillow to her face. He leaned over, offering the box of tissues from the table on his side of the sofa.

She took it without looking, tucking it under her arm and pulling a tissue to dab her eyes.

Arthur's sneaking suspicion grew into a confident guess.

"Gwen?" he ventured with caution.

"Hmm," she sniffed, her eyes riveted on the scene. The protagonist had been forced to fight off a rabid child, hungry for her brains.

"Do you need… a hot water bottle, or something?" _Women like that._ He thought of his sister, though he could never tell if her infernal annoyance with him was warranted or symptomatic.

She tugged the pillow away from her face and began to laugh a little hysterically, her eyes still tearful. "Yes, please."

Arthur bit back his smile and left the couch to poke around her kitchen.

He flipped on the kettle as he searched. Guinevere had way too many drawers, all filled with mysterious gadgets, the purpose of which he'd never learn. As far as he was concerned, it was all witchcraft. Especially those blueberry muffins she makes. _Evil, scrummy witchcraft_.

He was determined not to ask for directions, but he wished he had a map. Thinking like Gwen was no use, because her brain was all flowers and puppies and social justice, probably.

Just as he was ready to give up, he found it on top of the fridge. He filled the bottle up carefully, stopping to admire the picture of them from the summer before they started uni, partially obscured by the magnet he'd brought her from California. Gwen's chin perched on his shoulder as he carried her piggy-back style, her arms locked loosely around his neck and her long, dark curls splayed over the top of his head.

 _Not a good look for me._ He snorted, ignoring the pang of longing to go back to that summer. It struck him like a homesickness at times.

In the photo they were both smiling, though Arthur had tried his best to look annoyed. Even now he remembered how surprisingly light she felt.

When he returned he laid the bottle over the waist of her sweatpants and took his seat a little closer this time, pulling her legs across his lap. A half-empty package of biscuits he'd found in her cupboard perched on the blanket covering her legs.

"Thanks," she said, lifting to take a biscuit. "Fabulous timing, I know. Probably why this Valentine's Day is particularly unbearable."

He leaned his head on the back of the sofa, pleased with his intuition. "You didn't always hate it."

She shrugged. "What's to like about tacky cards and overpriced roses?"

"You gave me that valentine once," he started to pat her knee.

When she tore her eyes from the screen just long enough to shoot him a look, he desisted. But he knew she caught his grin as the light from the television flickered over his eyes, crinkled with mirth, and cast shadows over the rumpled landscape of her duvet.

"We were seven. Get over it." She prodded his leg with her foot and reached into the bowl that was rapidly depleting between their mindless grasping hands.

A piercing scream and the crunch of carnage drowned out Arthur's snicker. He let his eyes linger on her face, still seeing a much younger version of her.

He'd never forget that first week at his new school, with no friends yet and no connections, when she'd made him feel liked. Even when she pretended to be angry, and even when she was—quite genuinely—annoyed with him, all he saw was that little girl in the plaid skirt and knee socks, slipping the heart-shaped valentine onto his empty desk as the other students around him feasted on sweets.

And maybe she had a sharper tongue now and grown-up clothes, but underneath she was the same Guinevere.

Before the movie was over they'd fallen asleep, Arthur's cheek against her thigh and Gwen's against the arm of the sofa.

II

"What are you doing tonight?"

He really shouldn't have answered his phone.

"What have you got in mind?" he asked dubiously. Surely she wasn't cashing in on their pact; she and Lance had been positively disgusting with one another lately, and Arthur was perfectly happy to forgo his side if it meant he wouldn't have to watch them.

"Family dinner at Merlin and Freya's?" Her tone suggested she was bracing for his refusal.

"Who else is coming?"

"Just me and Lance."

"Right," he snorted. _In other words, a thinly disguised Valentine's dinner that's become a family dinner because you're inviting a fifth wheel._

"Come off it, Arthur. We want you there."

"Nah, I've got plans."

"No you haven't. Stop wallowing and take a shower. Lance and I will pick you up at 6:30."

"But I'll just—"

"Bring an appetizer," she commanded before hanging up.

Six hours later, she texted him: _We're outside._

Arthur ran his hands over his face, suddenly regretting his cooperation, and locked up his flat.

Gwen's car idled on the street, and he opened the door to find one of her kitchen chairs dominating the back seat.

"What the hell?" he asked.

"Hey mate, sorry," Lance jumped out to adjust it, making a small space for him to squeeze in.

 _Gee, how generous_ , he thought, glowering at Lance's back.

"Hi," Gwen grinned at him through the rearview mirror, her eyes twinkling. "I'm glad you came."

"What's with the chair?"

"Merlin and Freya only have four in their kitchen," Lance explained.

"Ah." _So it's for me. Could this get any more pathetic?_

Arthur crossed his arms and watched the streets whiz by, fancying he'd be far more comfortable just about anywhere else. Visiting your coupled up friends was one thing; visiting your coupled up friends on a Special Occasion was quite another.

When they arrived at Merlin and Freya's he set out the bag of crisps and the small plate of vegetables he'd brought, helping himself to the open bottle of wine immediately. They didn't say it, but his friends all had that proud look in their eyes when they glanced at him, like he was some sort of feral puppy they'd coaxed into domesticity.

"Family dinner, huh?" Arthur looked pointedly at the bowl of conversation hearts and then at Gwen.

Gwen, getting his point, pulled a face at Freya, who shrugged, caring little for the charade.

He grasped a handful of the candy and dumped them in his mouth, determined to make them disappear.

"Are those any good?" Merlin asked. "They're like five years old."

Arthur moved quickly over to the bin where Gwen stood peeling carrots, and spit them out. "Ugh."

"Charming." Gwen tilted her head as she peered into the bin. "Ma Me. B Min. It's like reading tea leaves. Is that a hashtag?"

"A hashtag? Those can't be five years old," Arthur complained.

Merlin shrugged, a sheepish smile cracking over his lips.

"Arthur, dear, will you help Gwen with the carrots?" Freya asked with a certain tightness in her voice as she shot a look at Merlin.

Grunting, Arthur took up a knife to slice them as she set the last one on the cutting board. This, he could manage.

He mostly kept to himself as the others chatted about Merlin and Freya's recent honeymoon, but it soon turned to playful teasing about Lance and Gwen.

"Since we're married now, I should pass this onto you." Freya thrust a book at Gwen after she'd dried her hands.

"What is it?" she asked, flipping through, unsure if her friend was joking or not.

"It's actually pretty useful," Merlin chipped in. "It's got loads of questions you can ask each other for better communication."

"Do you really need a book for that?" Arthur sniped, dropping the rest of the carrots into the pot.

"Let's see," Lance stepped to look over Gwen's shoulder, idly swirling the wineglass in his hand.

"How long do you plan to breastfeed your children?" she read out.

"Well, definitely until they're at least four or five," Lance replied, making everyone laugh.

"Ugh, like on _Game of Thrones_?" Gwen scrunched her nose, flipping through the pages. "How do you plan on disciplining your children? Jeez, are all these about kids?"

"There's a part about sex too," Freya said. "And some questions about religion, family, division of labor, and so on."

Gwen's eyes lit up and she flipped through the pages, searching.

At the table, Merlin lit the candles. "The kids part is pretty important though. Like, I learned that Freya isn't opposed to spanking."

"You already knew that," his wife said archly, making Merlin's ears turn red.

"Freya!" Gwen laughed. "I guess it's just not at the front of my mind at the moment. Maybe in five or six years if it feels right."

"Not everyone's ready for kids at our age," Freya reasoned, glancing at Arthur reflexively.

Arthur nodded in agreement, not offended in the slightest as he tried to imagine what life would be like if he had a child to take care of. At this point, he found it nearly impossible to imagine himself in a relationship that led to children. Maybe one day, once he'd got his own life together. Doing his own laundry would be a start.

"Don't you think it's sad when kids have old parents?" Lance asked. "If you have them too late, you won't be around for them as long."

"I guess," Gwen shrugged. "But I'd really like to do some traveling first, you know? Enjoy life and be a little selfish before I can't do things."

"Having kids doesn't mean you can't do things," Lance countered.

Arthur pulled his head out of the fridge, affecting nonchalance, but he could feel Gwen's discomfort from across the room as if it were his own. He knew he couldn't be the only one feeling as if he were intruding on a private conversation.

"I just meant it's a lot of responsibility that I'm not ready for yet."

The group fell silent for a few moments while Freya laid out the place settings and Merlin excused himself for the bathroom.

Arthur struggled for something, _anything_ to say to change the topic.

"This looks amazing, Freya," Arthur leaned over the bowl of freshly-made pasta dressed in a lemon basil sauce. He wasn't lying; it _did_ look delicious.

"Thanks, Arthur," she smiled. "I got to use my pasta maker for the first time since we moved in."

The mood eased once everyone had begun eating and showering the cook with compliments.

As expected, the two couples sat opposite each other while Arthur was left with the extra seat at the end of the table. A decorative mirror on the opposite wall reflected his face, and it felt an oddly fitting punishment for being single on the world's most unforgiving holiday.

To his relief, the Valentine's talk was kept to a minimum. Lance prodded him about his job, as if it were the only interesting thing about him, but he was happy enough to discuss it.

Then Merlin made a brief speech about the importance of having friends together. Arthur chuckled with the rest of them and called him a sap. But the wine had warmed his blood, and he found himself grateful for each of them nonetheless. Even Lance, with his arm perched casually along the back of Gwen's chair.

Not for the first time he thought they looked good together, and maybe even right. It had always been difficult to warm up to her boyfriends, but Lance had been her longest relationship by far and he supposed he had to give the man some credit.

She was laughing at something Merlin had said and he could see that some, if perhaps not all, of the tension from earlier had left her.

Next, Gwen's triple chocolate cake had them all moaning.

"I think I've married the wrong woman," Merlin teased, and was quickly punished with a swat.

Gwen grinned, pushing the rest of her cake toward Arthur, who gratefully accepted the second helping after demolishing his first.

"I wish we could stay later, but we've got to work tomorrow," Lance spoke up suddenly, glancing at his girlfriend. He'd barely touched the slice she'd set out for him, but then again he was always talking about some new health regime.

A meaningful look passed between the two of them, and Arthur wiped his face with his napkin.

"Oh, of course. Well, this was fun," Freya said, starting to clear the table.

They all rose to help her, murmuring agreement.

Gwen rinsed the dishes and handed them to Arthur to load the dishwasher. His fingers grazed her slippery ones and she met his eyes, offering a secret smile. She'd do anything to cheer him up, he realized. Maybe he shouldn't have been so childish.

"Thanks for inviting me," he said, for her ears only.

She bumped her hip against his, making him smile.

They hugged their goodbyes, promising to start a recurring dinner night, or perhaps a game night since _some of them_ were less partial to cooking.

Lance, gallant as ever, carried the extra chair back to the car, placing it gingerly in the back. Arthur tried not to notice how Freya tucked the book into Gwen's bag, patting her hand with a motherly look.

When they dropped Arthur off he felt at first relieved, and then profoundly alone.

III

She felt like a ghost, or one of few, in the eerily abandoned library.

After her last lecture she'd staked out her spot on the top floor and ducked her head in a textbook, only coming up for air when she realized her eyes were straining.

Outside the windows the day had fallen to darkness. The normal hushed scuttering of students in the stacks was gone; only the distant clatter of fingertips on a keyboard and a flat buzzing from the fluorescent light above penetrated the silence.

Gwen squeezed her eyes hard, enjoying the relief and rubbing the bridge of her nose where her reading glasses left an indent. Her arse felt sore, and the lights seemed too bright.

She shouldn't have compounded the pressure of her looming deadline by neglecting her studies the previous evening, but Arthur had needed her help with his exam prep, and when his eyes got all wide and blue at her she forgot how to say no.

Instead she'd emailed her professor, pleading for an extension whilst she fully intended to finish on time anyway.

Gwen hadn't considered the effect the holiday would have on the usually crowded quiet study floor. She wondered how packed the restaurants and cinemas in town must be, almost convincing herself that she was happy to enjoy the day-old sandwich in her bag in solitary peace.

Opening her laptop, she pulled up her email to check for a response from her professor. Her inbox was crowded with a day of junk, save for a message from _adpendrago_ which she nearly deleted by accident.

The subject line announced he'd sent her an e-card.

 _I love you for your brains_ , it said, the words highlighted in blue.

She clicked the link and almost jumped out of her skin as the animation popped up on her screen: a cartoon zombie staggered toward its zombie mate, outstretched hands holding a human brain on a platter.

Gwen snorted as the zombies grunted at each other. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one had noticed.

 _Happy anti-Valentine's Day_

 _Love,_

 _Your favorite pain in the arse_

The message left her smiling, and she pulled out her phone to text him. Maybe he was with the new girl. Maybe, it was too late in the evening and he already knew she'd be studying, but she couldn't forget their promise. Somehow, he hadn't.

 _Got anything besides brains? I'm starving._

His reply came a few minutes later.

 _Thought you'd never ask. Stay there, I'll come get you._

IV

"I never told you because I was afraid," he confessed softly.

Gwen glanced down at the words in her hands, then back to his face. "Afraid of what?"

Arthur stepped closer, reaching to touch her waist. "Afraid of losing the best thing I've ever had."

"Are you..." She cleared her throat, trying again. "Are you saying what… what I think—?" Gwen burst into laughter, unable to contain herself any longer.

"Guinevere, will you stop laughing?" Arthur wilted, the paper creasing in his grip. "This is serious."

Despite his frustration, she could tell her laughter was making him crack, though he was determined not to smile.

"I'm sorry," she snorted, covering her face and wiping a little moisture from her eye. "I'm sorry. I'm trying. It's just so cheesy."

Arthur rolled his eyes and flopped onto the couch. "I'm never going to get these lines down."

"Yes you are." Regaining composure, she sank into the cushions beside him. "You already have them down. You don't need me."

He sighed, burying his face in her shoulder. "You think it's awful."

"Mmhmm," she nodded, slipping her fingers into his hair and massaging his scalp. As usual, it made his whole body go limp and pliable as a dish towel. "But that's okay. It won't always be like this."

"Unless this is the only type of role I'll ever get," he moaned.

"This is how you get started," she helped him sit up. "Later, you'll have choices."

"Why did I think I could be an actor?"

"Because you're so dramatic?" she teased. "Besides, you've got your finance degree to fall back on if it doesn't work out."

He stared at the ceiling. "My father would love that, wouldn't he?"

"Arthur, stop fixating. You haven't failed anything yet. What if you get the part? Why don't you think about that?"

He rubbed his hands over his thighs, all nerves. "I guess we can't do our traditional anti-Valentine's celebration. This audition is going to take up my whole day."

Gwen sat up, folding her legs. "So I'll take you."

"What? Gwen, it's like a three hour round trip."

"And twice as long on the train. Let me take you. We'll make a day of it. You can practice in the car."

"Are you sure? You're not gonna want to be in the car with me if it doesn't go well."

"I think I've probably seen you at your worst."

"""

"So, do you have to kiss someone?"

They're half an hour early to his audition, but better safe than sorry. In the car park, Gwen had been trying her best to keep his nerves at bay, but there was only so much they could talk about with his appointment looming.

"You've read the script."

"Not all of it."

Arthur shrugged. "It's part of the job."

"Are you kidding? Isn't it odd, just kissing a stranger and not even meaning it?"

"Gwen, it's not a big deal," he laughed.

"But what if you get, like, _excited_?"

More laughter burst from his lips. "It won't happen. Unless it's Beyoncé or something. There will be a ton of people watching anyway, and lights and cameras all over the place. Not exactly romantic."

Gwen shook her head. "I just can't imagine having to—"

Her words were cut short as Arthur leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, soft but confident.

"Mmmph." Gwen's squeak gave way to a sigh as her eyes fell shut, then fluttered open a moment later in renewed alarm just before Arthur pulled back.

He stared at her lips for a few moments before he cleared his throat and met her eyes again.

"See?" he said, his slightly unsteady breath belying his point. "Not weird. Just, you know, a kiss."

"Right," she stared at him, wide eyed, before looking out the windscreen and puzzling over her pounding heart. "Not at all."

"Anyway, if you were an actress you'd know it's no big deal."

"Excuse me, I was in a play in primary school."

"That's right," he chuckled. "You were a footman in Cinderella."

"A very memorable performance," she preened.

"Not to mention the suit with the ruffles."

"You remember my costume?"

"Memorable," he raised his brows, tapping a finger to his temple.

She smiled, scrunching her nose at him.

A natural silence fell, and for a few moments they studied each other.

Gwen tried not to focus on his lips.

"Ah, it's a quarter to," he said, looking at his watch. "I should probably head in."

"You're probably right," she smiled. "Good luck. Break a leg, or whatever you're supposed to say."

Arthur unbuckled his seatbelt, his jacket crinkling as he leaned to open the door.

"Arthur," she grasped his sleeve, making him pause. "Whatever happens… Um, Happy anti-Valentine's Day."

He grinned, slipping out of the car with one more backward glance before he walked up to the building and disappeared through the front door.

Gwen stared after him for a few minutes, sending him positive thoughts. Then she pulled her bag from the back seat and rummaged for her book.

The words on the page may as well have been gibberish.

 _No no no_ , she thought, bumping her head against the steering wheel. _You do not have feelings for your best friend._

For the next thirty-five minutes, she flipped vacantly through the pages, thinking of nothing but kissing Arthur.

V

In his bedroom doorway, Gwen had to stop herself laughing. If she wasn't so tired, she'd probably be rolling on the floor.

"This is your emergency?"

Arthur glared at her from the bed, where his wrists were currently handcuffed to the headboard.

"Not exactly our usual Valentine's Day plan. Where's the key?" Gwen looked around the room, checking the nightstand and the floor.

"She took it with her."

"You're kidding," Gwen's eyes widened, another laugh bubbling up as she covered her mouth. "Sorry."

"What are you doing?" He asked frantically as she pulled out her phone.

"Relax, I'm calling my dad."

"No! Gwen, you can't," he tried budging, but it only served to lower the sheet over his waist further. He groaned and she realized he was likely naked beneath.

"Why not?" She seized on her annoyance with Arthur to drown out the equally annoying flicker of heat that shot through her at the revelation. "He's a bloody locksmith. If anyone knows what to do it'll be him."

"Guinevere!" Arthur said desperately. "Hang up your phone _now_. I do _not_ need your father to see me like this."

"Alright, fine," she conceded, ending the call before the second ring. "But for the record, he already knows you're an idiot. What exactly do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "There's gotta be something here that can cut through them."

"Isn't there usually some kind of escape tab for these situations?" She moved to examine the contraptions, frowning at how authentic they appeared. "Wait, are these real? Where did you get them?"

"She took them from the props department."

"I can't believe you let her do this."

"It wasn't my idea, and I didn't know she'd storm off and leave me here! Believe me, this isn't exactly my ideal Valentine's Day either."

There followed a search through Arthur's disorganized flat with Arthur shouting directions to her from the bedroom, like some kind of angry game of hot and cold.

"I already checked under the sink!" she shouted back.

"Look in the toolbox!" he growled.

"There's no bloody toolbox in here! That's it. I'm calling a locksmith," she stomped back into his bedroom, sinking onto the bed next to him. At his look of panic, she clarified: "Not my dad. There should be a few other 24-hour locksmiths nearby." Gwen poked at her phone. "Ah, here's one."

"Don't tell them I'm—"

"Shhhh! Oh, hi! Hello, yes. We're in need of a locksmith. My friend is in a bit of a bind," she bit back a giggle, and Arthur dug his knee into her back, cursing as the sheet slipped further off his hip. Gwen related the address and necessary information, then listened for a few moments. "Oh. That long? Alright, thank you. We'll see you then."

"How long?" Arthur asked the dreaded question.

"They don't know," she said a little sympathetically. "He said it could be a few hours. Apparently this is one of their busiest days of the year."

"Gee, who would have thought?"

"What do you want to do in the meantime? Do you need to pee?"

"No, thank god, not yet. I think my hands have gone numb. Either that, or they've fallen off entirely."

Gwen snorted and reached up, kneading and massaging them.

"Thanks for coming, by the way," he said softly up to her as she leaned over him.

"How could I miss this?" She smirked, or tried to.

In truth, she was happy Arthur's latest fling had ended so quickly, if not so disastrously, so they could honor their tradition. But she'd never admit to being so fond of him and his idiocy that she'd happily spend the rest of her night just sitting with him.

"Do you think the match is on?"

"Ah, now we get down to the real reason you called me over." Gwen got up, but paused on her way to the telly. "Er, Arthur? Are you sure you don't want some help putting clothes on? I know it might be a few hours but um…"

A blush heated her cheeks when her eyes fell to his groin, where the sheet had been pulled down far enough to show his hip bones and the trail of hair that lead down between his legs.

"Fuck," he dropped his head against one of his suspended arms, looking down. "I guess so. But you have to promise not to look."

"I promise," she crossed her heart, moving to his dresser to dig around for a pair of shorts.

Arthur watched her, shaking his head at the first option she pulled out—a pair of boxers patterned with bananas. "Not those. Find some real shorts."

"Why do you even own these?" she muttered.

The second pair deemed acceptable, Gwen stood at the foot of the bed, pulling the sheet up enough to uncover his feet.

"No peeking," Arthur warned with a small wink.

"As if," she laughed, though he had made her curious. The evening had taught her much more about Arthur's sexual appetite than she'd ever cared to know, but she had to admit he had a nice body. A _very_ nice body.

With a little frown, she slipped his feet through the leg holes and knelt on the bed. Reaching beneath the sheet, she gingerly tugged them up his legs, over his knees and muscular thighs. She couldn't resist darting her eyes up to his face, but she averted them immediately as she realized he had the same idea.

"Up," she ordered, and Arthur obliged, raising his bum while she took excessive care to pull them up his hips without touching _those_ parts. "There. Better?"

Gwen dropped her hands onto her thighs where she knelt by his hips.

"Much better, thank you. You're an angel, and I don't feel the least bit violated."

"Tempting, I know," she rolled her eyes. Then she moved to the telly to put the match on quietly in the background. "Are you hungry?"

"I'd rather not eat or drink just now, thank you," his eyes fixed on the screen.

She chuckled, crawling up by his head and arranging a pillow to lounge beside him. "They're complete rubbish right now, you know. Never going to win the title."

"Hush, woman. Someone has to keep the dream alive."

Gwen settled her head on his shoulder—warm and muscular, but always the perfect resting spot—and let the hypnotic ebb and flow of football entrance her.

Later, the soft, warm press of lips to her forehead caused her to stir, and she blinked her eyes open sleepily.

"Sorry," Arthur murmured, a slight smile lifting the corner of his lips. "You just looked so…"

She smiled back at him, tucking closer into his warmth and noticing, quite suddenly, how close his face was to hers.

He was still looking down at her—a soft, dreamy look—and after carefully watching his eyes, she lifted her head the tiny distance to take his lips under hers.

At first, he did nothing. She could feel his measured breaths, his skin heating.

Then, he leaned into her, mouth parting slightly to deepen her gentle pressing. Gwen sighed, turning further under him and letting his tongue graze over her lips. Her mind was too foggy to think about what they were doing, but her desire began to sharpen and she slipped her tongue out to greet his. Warm breath panted between them, and Arthur shifted slightly, groaning as metal clinked against metal.

"Oh," she gasped against his mouth, fielding his persistent kisses and shrinking back into the pillow until she could pull away. "Are your wrists hurting?"

"A bit," he said softly, his expression warm, if slightly disappointed. "I could really use my hands right now."

"Do you have an itch?"

"You could say that."

Gwen bit her lip, sitting up to rub the sore spot at his wrist, massaging the pins and needles from his hand. Then she leaned over to his other hand to do the same.

Below her, Arthur smiled appreciatively. Realizing how close her chest was to his face, she sat up straighter.

"Pervert."

Arthur grinned, capturing her hand and lacing their fingers together before she could withdraw it.

"This was all part of your master plan, wasn't it?"

"What, to have a real Valentine's Day with you, at last?"

Gwen's heart swelled. She leaned down to drop a shy kiss to his lips, her hair falling in his face.

"If it's true, this was the worst idea ever."

Arthur chuckled. "I agree. Next time will involve more chocolate. And maybe lingerie."

"Arthur," she laughed in surprise, despite herself. "Need I remind you how vulnerable your balls are right now?"

Instinctively, he crossed his legs, making her laugh harder.

The buzzer sounded, and Gwen shot him a warning look as she went to admit the locksmith.

"So what kind are we...?" the man began to ask as she led him into the bedroom. "Oh."

Arthur looked only mildly embarrassed, still with a smirk like the cat that got the cream.

"I don't suppose you've done this before?" she asked the locksmith innocently.

"Sweetheart, this is my third set of handcuffs tonight."

Freed at last, Arthur paid the man and sent him on his way, both of them grateful his wallet hadn't disappeared with the key.

"So what should we—?" Gwen started to ask, but Arthur had already pulled her in and claimed her lips. Thrilled, she kissed him back with as much fervor, only pausing to laugh as he walked her backwards to the sofa and they tumbled onto it.

"What are you laughing about?" he teased as he kissed her neck and she squirmed beneath him.

"Just thinking I'm getting you bolt cutters for Christmas."

"Who says I'm going to be putting those things on again?"

 _Oh, what the hell_ , Gwen smirked and squeezed his backside.

"Oh," Arthur groaned. "This is the best anti-Valentine's Day we've ever had."


End file.
